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queen-rowenas · 2 years

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@queen-rowenas’s follower celebration day one: candlelight / date night

The bunker is quiet and dark when Cas gets home, the clang of the door closing echoing through the war room.

He frowns at the dimmed lights, certain of the time down to the second. It’s still early evening, not late enough for the bunker’s light system to switch to its late night settings to conserve power.

Traffic had actually been light on his drive back from town, a trip to the post office for Sam and the bakery for Dean. Setting Sam’s box of some lended grimoires from a friendly coven and the pie Cas had spotted in the bakery window on the map table, the angel took extra care in handling the pie box.

At least the eery quiet has an explanation. Sam is visiting Eileen, and Jack is helping Claire with a hunt for the weekend. So it’s just Dean and Cas at the bunker. Which is nothing unusual.

So he shouldn’t be feeling the flutter of his grace as takes quick steps through the bunker to find Dean, shuffling the pie box in his hands.

Except things are different now.

It’s been twelve days, four hours, and nineteen minutes since they shared their first kiss. And they’ve shared many soft moments since then, shy and hesitant, growing accustomed to being allowed to touch, to be tender.

Dean had seemed a little…off when Cas had left for the afternoon. Antsy. Not quite looking Cas in the eye as he pressed a hasty kiss to his cheek.

A clatter from the kitchen startles the air, followed by scuffling steps, and Dean stumbles out into the hall, nearly colliding with the angel.

“Hey.” Dean smiles, voice too high and eyes too wide.“You’re home early.”

His hands wring in the stained apron wrapped around his waste, and there’s a streak of something wiped across his forehead. He’s wearing a dark blue button-up that compliments his shoulders. Cas can recall Dean wearing it exactly once. It is a carefully preserved memory.

He looks all too real and yet like something from a dream.

“The line at the post office was short,” Cas says, at a loss.

“Short.” Dean nods absently, hands on his hips. “Good. That’s…good.” His eyes dart around for a moment as the hall falls silent, thoughts flitting across his face.

Cas motions back down the hall. “Should I not be here?”

Dean’s eyes snap back into focus. “What? No! I mean, yeah—it’s just.” He rubs the back of his neck and nods, sucking in a breath. “Yes. Come on in.”

He motions for Cas to enter before faltering, hands floundering at his sides before stepping in close to press a kiss to Cas’s cheek. “Hi,” he murmurs, hovering close.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Okay, let me just—” Dean slaps the light off and whips his apron from his waist, leaving the angel at the threshold, grabbing a few plates of food from the counter and haphazardly tucking a bottle under his arm to deposit them on the table. “Didn’t really have time to clean up yet, but it’s fine.”

Cas can only stare at the scene. It’s the familiar aftermath of Dean’s cooking, an organized chaos of pots and dishes, some cleaned and some still scattered across the counter.

But there’s more.

For one, there are enough candles to constitute a fire hazard although Castiel would never allow a flame to touch Dean Winchester. They cast the room in a soft, hazy light, sharpening the line of Dean’s jaw as he circles the kitchen.

Scrambling for the only two wine glasses they own, Dean nearly knocks over the record player from the Dean Cave tucked in the corner, Taylor Swift’s Folklore vinyl crooning softly.

The side of the pie box folds in under his hold and startles Cas enough to knock him out of his reverie. He takes a few steps inside and carefully sets the box down.

“What is all of this?”

“Oh, it’s uh—” Dean goes to rub the back of his neck again before stopping himself. “It’s a date night.”

He shrugs. “I figured now that we’re…you know, together, I should actually woo you. Wine and dine you and stuff. So I got the dinner and the flowers—”

His eyes grow wide, and he curses under his breath. “Hang on.” And he turns and races out of the kitchen.

As the rapid footsteps fade down the hall, Cas shakes his head, unbearably fond and almost overwhelmed. He turns to look at the table and his grace swells in his chest.

There’s a burger for Dean on one side, but the other has an assortment. There’s a grilled cheese sandwich, a meal Cas finds comfortingly close to peanut butter and jelly but more tolerable as an angel. There’s toast topped with an absurd amount of butter with jars of honey and jam from the farmer’s market beside it. And in the center is a stack of pancakes with a fruit and whipped cream smiley face on top. Cas had been particularly fond of that breakfast when they had it a few mornings ago.

Beside the meal sits a mug of hot chocolate, whipped cream swirled expertly on top, and a glass of wine. Cas’s two preferred beverages when he’s feeling indulgent.

It’s the most absurd meal Cas has ever seen. And he loves it.

The footsteps return, and Dean stumbles into the door frame, out of breath. He straightens and holds out a bundle of sunflowers tied together with twine. “These are for you, sunshine,” he says with a smirk and a wink, something that would be a lot smoother if he wasn’t visibly sweating.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Cas shifts the flowers to one hand and reaches out for Dean’s, but Dean breezes past him, incapable of staying still.

“Okay, I fixed all of your favorites, so this is probably the weirdest meal I’ve ever made, but you can just dig in.” He spins around, startling Cas back a step. “Or not! I mean, if you’re not in the mood to eat, that’s okay too. We can just save it for later if you want. It’s just…” Dean shrugs, looking away and growing quiet. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” Cas moves in closer, leaning past Dean to set his flowers down on the seat.

“Yeah. It’s your night, buddy.”

“Good.”

In one motion, Cas crowds him back into the table and kisses him. Dean startles, one hand nearly landing in the toast, before melting into him. He raises both hands to Cas’s face, one carding back into his hair. Cas can taste the wine on his tongue. He presses in more before drawing back, and Dean sways with him, letting out a shuddering breath.

“You.” Cas presses another kiss to his cheek. “Are wonderful.”

Dean blinks, dazed eyes still trained on Cas’s mouth.“We should—the food’s gonna get cold.” His hands are still running idly through Cas’s hair. Hands that prepared this meal and got flowers for a date night, in their home.

“Of course.” Cas squeezes his hip before stepping back and around to sit down. He smiles as Dean takes a wobbly step to his seat, the candlelight doing nothing to hide his blush. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been on a date before.”

“Well, buckle up because this is only the start. I’m gonna date the crap outta you,” Dean says, picking up his burger.

Cas hums, smiling around a bite of pancakes. “I suppose I’ll have to do my own research. To romance you.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. You’ve already done that plenty.”

“Perhaps.” Cas reaches across the table and takes Dean’s ready hand. “But I would still like to take you somewhere. Treat you to an evening that expresses my affections for you.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Uh, yeah. We can do that if you want.”

Watching Dean blink, the dim light flickering across his face and throat as he swallows, Cas knows that he would do anything for Dean Winchester. Because he deserves nice things, soft things like candlelit dinners and soft music and tender affection.

He smiles and runs his thumb over the back of Dean’s hand. “It’s a date.”

writing tag list pt. 1 (ask to be added or removed)

@10x02 @alivedean @alex-is-a-boy-b-tch @bixlasagna @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @blue-moon-elf @brokenyouth @butchnatural @carvereracas @casblackfeathers @castiel-for-lunch @castiel-is-a-cat @castielevermore @castielsbeeslippers @ccstiel @clouds-starlight @darthbecky726 @destieldisaster @destielfactory @destielinimpala @donestiel @donvex @dstiel @ensignabby @expectingtofly @feraladoration @folklorecas @fireghost-x @galaxies-of-the-heart @galaxycastiel @good-things-do-happen-dean @heller-swift @himitsutsubasa @how-the-feathers-have-fallen @ialwaysordericedcoffee @immortalcas @im-sam-fucking-winchester @jackles-acting-choices @lalisfandoms @lateral-org @littlewolf2703 @llamasdumpsterfire @lookforanewangle @martymar1963 @mishha @mochadean @mostly-marauders-headcanons @mrswatermelon @ne8ula

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hannahcoursey · 4 years

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Take a Sip Part 1

Author: Hannahc56

Word Count: 3,088

Request: Hi there, hi! Could you maybe do a fic where the reader accidentally gets roofied and Dean comes to the rescue?

PART TWO.

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The drive home was deadly. You could have cut the tension that filled the leather lined interior with a knife. You sat in the back, your arms crossed, tapping your foot anxiously against the floorboards. Sam sat passenger, which was usually your seat next to Dean, but since you were the furthest from being on his good side right about now, you settled for the back.

The Impala shifted through the gears, revving high at the command of Dean’s lead foot. He was pissed. The radio was silent, the volume turned all the way down, you could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. When you looked up in the rearview, you met the old Winchesters hard glare and immediately cast your eyes down, shifting over a little so that you were just out of his line of sight. When the three of you pulled up to the motel room, Dean’s door was open before he even had it in park. You sighed. Sam turned around and gave you a sullen look.

“He’s only mad because he cares,” He said, bracing you for the fight you were undoubtedly going to get into the second your foot crossed the threshold of the dingy room the three of you were sharing.

You took a breath and shook your head. “Yeah well, I’d hate to see how he treats his enemies,” You flashed a sarcastic grin and Sam let out an unenthusiastic chuckle before you both exited the car.

“I’m gonna go see if there’s a bar around, maybe blowing off some steam would do some good for us.” Sam mumbled as he turned on his heel and walked towards the front desk to ask around. You watched him as he walked off, silently wishing you could avoid the confrontation that was waiting behind the door in front of you. Let’s get this over with. You turned and walked up to the door, consciously trying to keep your hand steady as you turned the door knob, the thin plywood door creaking open. Dean paced back and forth in front of the bathroom door, between the two queen beds, neglecting to even look in your direction when you walked in. You slowly pushed the door shut behind you and tried to even your breathing, the anxiety already kicking in.

“Dean-” You began, but you stopped when his head shot up in your direction. If looks could kill.

“No, Y/N, just stop,” He said, his voice cold and void of emotion, “Whatever you’re going to say; don’t.” He finished. You licked your lips and tried to swallow, but your throat felt tight and closed.

“No, Dean,” You began, trying to steady your voice, but you already felt hot tears pressing against the back of your eyes, “You’re mad at me, because I used myself as bait when you had a set of fangs inches from your neck,” You stepped closer to him and his eyes never left you, hard and unwavering. “You can be mad all you want, but you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing.” You pursed your lips, holding your ground. He stepped closer to you, staring down at you as he towered over you.

“You are reckless,” He spit, his words venom, “And you’re blind to the things around you and it’s going to get you killed,” His voice rose as he continued, “I’m not going to stick around and watch you kill yourself!” He finished, his voice roaring in the close proximity. Tears welled in your eyes and you blinked them away, staring up at him as they spilled down your scratched cheek.

“Good!” You yelled back, equally as dominant as his words spoken to you, “Luckily for you, you won’t have to!” You finished, your face inches from his as your voice bounced off the barren walls of the empty motel room. The both of you stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, hot tears burning down your face, before you turned away and left, slamming the door behind you.

The cool air of the late night felt refreshing against your damp cheeks as you used your sleeve to wipe the evidence of any tears off of your face and stormed into the dark. You glanced over your shoulder into the room Dean stood in. In the sliver of the curtain that was open, you could see him swiping the stuff off of the top of the table by the window in a fit of anger, followed by the muffled noises of the things smashing against the ground. You turned and looked straight again as a few leftover tears slipped between your lashes before you rubbed them away. You crossed your arms, protecting yourself from the cold and headed down the road.

After about an hour of walking alongside the highway of the motel had been sitting on, you saw a shimmer of lights in the distance. As you got closer, the ambience of a frat bar filled your senses. Girls in cropped university wear and guys with their shirts off and weird greek letters painted on their chests spilled out into the parking lot as the thumping bass of their pop music filled your ears. You rolled your eyes. I hate frat boys.

As you approached the bar and walked in between the social groups of whatever college was close by, you kept your head down and pushed through the front doors. The atmosphere inside was worse than the parking lot; Crappy music blared from large speakers on a stage with a DJ, while kids who were obviously too young to be out drinking at a bar danced closely with friends and lovers, covered in a sheen of sweat. You hesitated, every inch of your being dreaded a place like this, college kids and DJ’s weren‘t really your scene. But what else did you have? You thought of Dean and the motel room you assumed he’d already destroyed out of the anger and frustration he had trouble controlling. You thought of his words and how much worse things could get if you two spent the night screaming your heads off at one another and your heart sank in your chest. Looks like this is gonna be my best bet for the night. You moved your way through the crowds of teenagers, pushing past them to seat yourself at the bar. The bartender rushed over to you, a young man who was obviously overwhelmed by the amount of people in the room he had to serve, and laid a napkin out.

“I’ll be right with you,” He flashed a gorgeous but hurried smile at you, and before you could even nod a thank you in his direction he was already on the other end of the bar refilling drinks and taking tabs. To the right of you was a young couple, the girl perched on top of the frat guy's lap, swallowing his tongue. You cringed and turned the other direction where a few guys hung out, laughing loudly at something the one had said. You let out a deep breath and stared up at the television set in front of you. Football, of course, college football. The bartender quickly made his way back, took your order and hurried off again.

Through the drone of people talking and music blaring, all you could think about was Dean. He wasn’t your boyfriend, he wasn’t anything close to that. But the past few months felt different with him. Your relationship wasn’t like the one you shared with Sam. On dozens of occasions, you felt eyes burning in the back of your head, only to see Dean’s green orbs staring at you as if he was trying to memorize the way you moved and the freckles on your cheeks, before he turned away. Your face would glow with the red heat his gaze on you left and you’d find yourself stuttering your next few sentences. He was so in-tune to you and everything you did. Without saying a word, he could tell when you were upset by the way your face twisted for a half second before you masked your anger behind a blank stare. He’d creep down the hall and peek his head in your door when he knew you were having a rough day. Sometimes he’d say nothing - He’d slip into your room and lay down beside you, wrapping you up in his arms while hot tears slipped down your cheeks after a bad hunt and he’d stay silent. But you were always alone when you woke up in the morning. You never knew how to take these gestures, the intimate moments the two of you shared that crossed your mind whenever he laughed or threw a sarcastic wink in your direction. The relationship you had with both of the brothers was the only thing you had going for you in your life - the thought of messing something up enough that they would no longer be a part of your everyday was terrifying enough to keep your feelings for the eldest brother at bay. It was getting to the point that hunts were becoming reckless, Dean was right about that. You’d step in when you weren’t supposed to, the deadly selflessness of the brother rubbing off on you. Dean would painstakingly offer himself up before anyone laid a hand on you and it was becoming an issue.

As you let yourself drown your thoughts plagued by Dean, a hand reached past you and set down a fresh glass of bourbon directly in front of you. You turned, following the arm to the man it was attached to as he took a seat next to you. It was one of the guys that had previously been goofing off with each other next to you, smiling at you smuggly.

“I heard your order,” He cocked his head to the side, “Can’t say I wasn’t surprised to hear a pretty girl like you was putting back bourbons,” He stuck his hand out, “I’m Ryan.”

You sat there, taking in the way he spoke and observing his movements as he talked. You stuck out your hand slowly. “I’m-” You hesitated, “I-I’m Deanna” You sputtered. Redness rose to your cheeks as the embarrassment flushed through you. Deanna? Really?

“Deanna, that’s a nice name,” He nodded and looked around the room, “You come here with anyone?” His eyes floated around another moment before they landed back on you. He looked nice enough, but the way he looked you up and down made your skin tingle with hesitancy.

“Nope, I’m with me, myself and I,” You answered with a grin, taking the drink he’d given you and putting it to your lips, “And I plan on keeping it that way.” You finished and threw the drink back, guzzling the neat bourbon down in a few swallows. As you wiped your mouth, his hand slipped to your thigh. You froze for a moment before placing your hand on top of his and pushing it off. “I’m sorry, I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t play games like this,” You said, brushing the invisible fingerprints he left off of your upper thigh, “Go find some sorority girl, that seems a little more up your alley.” He hung his head for a second and laughed sarcastically.

“I knew you’d be a tough one, the way you walked right into a bar by yourself shows a lot of confidence, you know. I respect that in a woman.” He said, leaning in closer, his hand coming up to your face, “I like hard to get, it’s sexy.” He said low. Before he got any closer, you slapped him across the face, causing his friends behind you to make a noise of surprise. His sleazy demeanor changed to anger as he touched the side of his cheek.

“I said no, dickbag, leave me the hell alone.” You spat and turned to sit forward in your seat. He stood up and spun you in your barstool and leaned close, his arms on either side of you, hands leaning on the bar as he looked down.

“When I said I knew you’d be a tough one, I meant I knew that this could go one of two ways,” He said, his eyes dark. As he spoke, your legs began to feel wobbly and your eyes felt fuzzy. You could no longer make out the slight red on his cheek from where your hand had made contact before and the pattern of his shirt blended colors. “It could go the easy way or the hard way,” He said, leaning closer, his face brushing against your cheek, his lips right at your ear, “Which is why I put enough roofies in there to knock out a horse.” He finished, pulling back with a grin that stretched from ear to ear plastered on his face. The bourbon.

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and you pushed him away from you, his friends laughing and taunting again behind him. Fucking college kids. You stood up and the world seemed to spin faster. Balancing yourself off of the wooden bar, you took a few steps, looking in the direction of the door. Before you could get any further, you felt hands pick you up and throw you over their shoulder. All you could see were the blended colors in the pattern of Ryan’s shirt. Your heart beat so fast in your chest, it felt like it was going to burst. You curled your fists up into balls and with every fiber you had, pounded against his back. But it was no use. Your fists unraveled and died with the words on your tongue. You heard him talking to his friends about taking you home safe and tried desperately to answer, to fight, but your eyes fluttered heavily and your tongue felt like cement. Suddenly, you somehow slipped from his grasp and crashed hard onto the sticky bar floor, the moisture a mix of spilled beer and overpoured shots saturating your face. You heard loud, deep voices and fists pounding onto skin. Large hands made their way to your shoulders, pulling you on your back and moving to rest on your face. You tried so hard to fight it, your arms flailing in every direction as the man tried to force them at your sides. You fought monsters, vampires, demons, anything this messed up world spit at you and out of all of them, the thing that gets the best of you is an idiot with drugs. But when you opened your eyes, it wasn’t the dark eyes and smirk of the guy with the roofies, but warm green orbs and freckles. Dean. Tears slipped down the sides of your cheeks as he wiped them away with his thumb. You opened your mouth to talk, but could hardly manage a few strangled whimpers. His eyes searched yours for answers, desperately trying to help you, to reach you as he leaned down closer. Swallowing hard, you licked your lips.

“R-Roofies,” You managed to hardly cough out in a whisper. When Dean pulled his head away, his eyes were filled with fury, his mind changing paces, searching for the guy who’d done this. Mustering all the energy you could, you reached up and touched his cheek. His eyes returned to their worried but warm state when you made contact, his anger dissipating.

“I’ll get you home sweetheart, okay?” He said, nodding at you, but you couldn’t nodd back, you could only blink heavily. His hands slipped under you and he pulled you up, close to his chest. Your heart pounded hard in your chest, anxiety bubbling in you even in his arms. As he walked out of the bar, the cold air of the outside hit you and the comforting sound of the rumbling Impala filling your senses. You heard the sound of the door opening and closing before Sam’s grumbling voice came closer.

“What the hell happened man? What-” He started before Dean cut him off.

“Roofies, some asshole friggin’ slipped her something Sammy, open the back.” Dean said, his voice tight, his anger apparent even with your eyes half shut. Dean laid you down in the backseat of the Impala, before pulling away, his hands leaving you. You reached up, pure anxiety filling your blood as you grabbed his hands frantically. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Sweetheart, I’m gonna be back, alright?” He said, but you shook your head, inaudible whimpers leaving your lips.

“D-Dean,” You answered, panicked, reaching for the collar of his shirt. Your vision was coming and going in waves, your anxiety being the only thing that kept you conscious. Dean hesitated, looking down at you. His hands wrapped over top of yours that had a death grip on the collar of his jacket, his knuckles bloodied.

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” He sighed, letting out a breath. Climbing in with you, he shut the door, Sam climbing in the driver's seat. The blackness taunted at the edges of your vision causing you to panic, still gripping onto Dean’s jacket. He put his hands over yours once more and coaxed you to lay in his lap, looking down at you. “Just shut your eyes Y/N/N, okay?” He said, holding your hands tightly. You shook your head quickly, fighting the dark pull of unconsciousness. “Y/N, I’m right here baby,” He caressed the top of your head, lulling you to sleep off whatever was in your system, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise you’re safe now, I have you,” He leaned down and lightly brushed his lips to the top of your head, your breathing slowing gently, “I got you, you’re safe,” He whispered into your hair, “You got me and Sammy, no one’s gonna lay a hand on you, okay? Just shut your eyes for a little,” He continued to talk you down, as your eyes fluttered despite your protests, slowly slipping under. Had you’d been awake, you would’ve seen the way Sam’s eyes become glossy at the sight of you, at the way his big brother talked to you, like you were the only person in the world. You would’ve seen Dean blinking away the water that coated his eyes as he watched you silently panicking in waves, watching you suffer. Before you could protest any longer, you slipped into a deep sleep, safe in the back of the Impala, cradled in Dean’s arms.

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seenashwrite · 5 years

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The (Once) Demon Barber From Robintree

Word Count: 1.4K Category: One-shot, Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Friendship-Turns-To-More, Humor, Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Reader/Female O.C. Pairing(s): Sam x Reader/Female O.C. Warnings: None Author’s Note: *This is a re-post without tags and links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; from a reader’s request to do something involving a haircut Overall Summary: Sometimes accidents *do* happen accidentally, but most of the time, turns out it’s Dean. Now you might lose something you’ve worked hard for - though when it comes to Sam, perhaps you’ll gain something more.

“Peanut butter.”

“Second thing I tried.”

“Olive oil.”

“Third thing.”

“Wait, what was the first thing?”

“When Dean used two handfuls of a $40, six-ounce, brand-new tube of my conditioner.”

“Oh, shut up, Sam!” Dean exclaimed, and when he did, my head snapped to the side.

Because he was in a hand-talking mood. Because he was annoyed. And because his fingers were tangled in my hair.

So I jabbed my elbow behind me, but he dodged it and snickered.

“I’m gonna go get the scissors.”

“No!” Sam and I shouted at the same time.

“No,” I repeated, and quietly, trying to force myself into a calmer state. “This is fixable. We have beaten worse.”

Sam nodded, gave my knee a squeeze, continued to have that never-ending, grade-A, Sam-patented brand of sincere sympathy in his eyes.

And Dean continued to - I can only assume - pluck individual hairs from my scalp.

Slowly.

“Dean!”

“What?!”

“Bag in the kitchen, on the table - I got shortening, too.”

“I don’t—”

“GET THE DAMN CRISCO, DEAN!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got the gum in your hair, okay?” he said, coming around the chair to frown at me.

“You’re the one who gave the kid the gum. Still don’t know why—”

“Stopped his crying, didn’t it?”

“—or where you even got the friggin’ stuff!”

“It was on the floor. Y'know, those little machines that got knocked over.”

“You knocked them over!”

“Did you miss all of the vamps in that store?! I’m not bitching about you taking out that mountain of apples—”

“What in the blue HELL do APPLES have to DO with the KID that you THREW at me—”

“I did NOT, I just HANDED him—”

“You LAUNCHED him like you were at the FREE-throw line, you motherf—”

“Okay! Okay, guys!” Sam cut in, standing from his crouched position beside me.

He held his hands up, like he was trying to show a pack of attacking animals that he was no threat. I closed my eyes, since I was getting a migraine. Dean crossed his arms, because he’s twelve.

“Let’s try this last thing, take a break while it…. while it….”

“Makes her crust all nice and flaky?” Dean asked.

“Ass.”

“Likewise.”

“AAAAND,” Sam cut back in, shooting Dean a look as he did so, “then we’ll discuss cutting. That sound like a plan?”

Dean went off to the kitchen and Sam grabbed one of the other chairs, bringing it over and sitting directly in front of me. I glanced at the table. The remains of our failed experiments looked like some sort of bizarro-world, condiment-based hair salon.

“Hey, talk to me,” Sam said, and I turned my eyes back to his.

“It’s just hair,” I told him. Told myself.

“You trying to convince me?”

Mind-reader. That made me smile. But only a little.

“I’ll cut mine, too,” he added on.

And even though I burst into laughter at the mere thought of it, this - of all things - was what prompted the tears that had been waiting in the wings to finally make their grand entrance.

His forehead immediately creased, then he took both my hands in his, the big softie, and for once I decided to let somebody hold my hand - literally and metaphorically. And he decided to keep his mouth shut and let me sniffle for the five-point-two seconds I allowed myself to do so. And then we both decided one of my hands should slip away so I could wipe at my nose with my sleeve.

I let my hand drift to the side, tucking a few gooey pieces of hair behind my ear, let my fingertips slip through, let them run down, all the way to the ends. Kept them there, too. Now I was winding and twisting, something I’d never really done before, but it seemed apt - we were working towards a now or never situation.

“It’s taken years, you know? It was already short when I was old enough to hunt - Ma always kept it looking like I was two steps away from enlisting my entire childhood. Then it was growing, and I just had to go and chop it because I liked Jody’s haircut so much, and before you say—”

“You pulled it off.”

“—it, no, I did not pull it off.” I looked down at our clasped hands resting on my lap. “Ma said it a million times, if it was too long, it was gonna get in my way.”

“Not exactly what happened, and you had it up… which, you know, is probably how the gum…”

“Oozed from one side to the other when I unwound it? Yeeeeeaahh.”

“Anyway, I’m sure she meant more like… something grabbing onto it, using it against you.”

“Well, I got a feeling that’s not gonna be an issue anymore.”

Dean came walking back in, beer in one hand, scrolling through something on his phone with the other.

Sam waited for him to get well past the threshold of the door, giving him more than a fair shot to tune in to the rest of the world. “Hello?”

Dean looked up, still coming towards us. “Yeah?”

“Where. Is. The. Grease.”

I’d said it with the same growl of an accusation I’d used on that kid, when I’d passed him off to his father and asked after the giant wad missing from his stupid fat cheek.

Dean turned on his heel without breaking stride, heading back upstairs. “If I had a dime for every time a woman said…” he trailed off over his shoulder.

“‘Woman’,” I repeated softly. “Huh. I think that’s my problem. I’m a grown-up. Not supposed to have long, time-consuming, adds-to-an-already-messy-life hair when you’re my age. Supposed to keep it as uncomplicated as possible. So you get whatever TV mom cut’s the most popular at the time. That’s what women do, that’s a thing, right?”

Sam shrugged. "Doesn’t have to be your thing.“ Then he shot me a crooked little grin, ran his free hand through his hair. ”Our thing,“ he clarified.

And something about the way he said it… something about the way he was moving his thumb over my knuckles… if I were honest, something about the way we’d been looking at each other since about five minutes after we met…

"What is gonna be our thing?” I asked.

We were staring at each other, neither of us knowing the answer, when Dean jogged back in, carrying that same beer and nothing else.

“I looked in all the bags, it’s not….” A brief pause while he - accurately - read the mood of the room. “Yeah, well, uh, Imma go check under the seats of the—”

“Hey, Dean?” I interrupted, still looking at Sam.

“Hmmm?”

“Just go find something to whack this crap off, will ya?”

“Awesome!”

I swear to god, it sounded like he skipped down the hallway.

“I’ll do it,” Sam told me.

“You’ll get all nervous.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re nervous right now.”

We’d been drifting closer, ever-so-slightly, and now were almost nose-to-nose.

“First kisses tend to do that,” he whispered against my lips.

Eventually Dean bounded back into the room, and we pulled apart, turning at the same time to see him standing there with a no-nonsense expression on his face. He was flipping an angel blade. His eyes were practically dilated, and were absolutely sparkling with glee.

“Scissors are busted. Gotta do this cowboy-style!”

“Did you get possessed between here and your room!? And cowboys didn’t—-”

“I’ll do it,” Sam repeated, this time with more authority and beginning to rise from his chair, but ol’ Sweeney Dean had already come behind me and snatched up the middle section of my hair.

“Hey, knock yourself out - of the two of us, ain’t nobody calling me the hair expert,” Dean said, and he flipped the blade one last time, holding it handle-first towards Sam.

“No, no, no,” I told Sam, and he sat again.

“Are you sure?”

“Your job is to hold my hand." And I gripped both of his, probably too hard, but Sam just smiled.

"Long as you need.”

“Won’t be long at all!” Dean announced, and I gasped at the sudden lightness, cool air hitting the back of my neck for the first time in what felt like eons.

He actually chuckled at my reaction, the maniac, now stepping to the side to continue his hack-job. Sam’s smile turned toothy, though, and my shoulders instantly relaxed - another thing that had seemed eons-gone. Part of me wondered if I’d just traded one set of tangles for another.

That is, til he slipped a hand out from mine and ran it across the side of my neck, then to the back, rubbing gently as Dean kept lopping away.

“This is good,” he said.

“Not bad,” Dean agreed.

“It’s perfect,” I told them.

And it has been.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

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#Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN Fanfic #Supernatural Fanfic #Sam x Reader #Nash Writes

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jarpadandjensenaremyheroes · 7 years

Text

Safe Place

@queen-of-deans-booty requested “Can you do a DeanxReader where Dean gets turned into a toddler and he always goes to the reader since he feels safe with her and she takes care of him until he’s back to normal and then after, he confesses his feelings?”

A/n- I had waaaay too much fun writing this! This is all unbeta’d and written mostly at 12-3 am, so any and all mistakes are mine. I hope y’all get a couple good laughs out of this!

Edit: I fixed the "Keep Reading" option. Again, I'm so sorry this monster was clogging up your dashes!

Word count: 4,366 (sorry not sorry)

Warnings: Swearing, typical Supernatural violence, witches putting spells on people, toddler!Dean (Yes, that is a warning), Sammy is kind of an asshole in the beginning. So is Dean. But just for a hot minute.

As soon as Sam found this hunt, you had a pit in your stomach. You knew something was off from the moment he started explaining it in the Impala. People were turning up dead in their homes, with no sign of forced entry. They were all young adults, 18-25, and Sam thought it may have been a shtriga.

“But it’s not feeding on kids, Sam,” you argued.

“Yeah but it’s a college town. Not a whole lot of kids around, Y/N. 18 is still really young. We need to take a look around and check it out.”

“I’m telling you guys, this screams ‘witch’ to me… Why can you never believe me?”

Sam turned around to look at you with his bitch face. “Because the last time you insisted it was something else, we went in prepared for a werewolf and almost got our hearts ripped out by a damn ghost!”

“That was two fucking years ago, Sam. I’m real tired of you holding that over my head! Even Dean thought that was a werewolf! You-”

Then Dean lost it. “Alright, that’s enough! I’m sick of the two of you at each other’s throats all the god damn time. Sam, you work the angle you want, Y/N and I will work the other. Then we’ll pool our findings and find the solution. Now knock it off!”

Sam rolled his eyes with an aggravated sigh and turned to face the window to pout. You leaned forward to give Dean a peck on the cheek. “Thanks, De.”

“Look here princess, I’m not taking sides. I’m just shutting this shit down. If it is a shtriga, Sam is safe by himself in the day. If it is a witch, you would not be safe by yourself during the daytime. That’s why I’m going with you. I want you safe. So keep your head out of the clouds, alright?”

You shrank back into your seat at his harsh tone. You had been harboring a crush on Dean for a long time now, but every advance you made in the past had been futile. You were convinced he would never care for you the way you did him, and you pushed your feelings aside to continue hunting. But every now and then, they would peek through the lock box you had them in and it always put you in a sour mood.

The rest of the car ride was silent. Dean found a motel and you booked a room for the three of you. You all got settled in and changed into your fed suits before heading out. The most recent vic’s house was only a few blocks away, so Sam announced that he wanted to do a little more research before he headed that direction and would call you when he found anything. You and Dean got back in the Impala and drove across town to go visit the few other crime scenes. You were still brooding, so you stayed quiet on the way there.

What you don’t know is what Dean is brooding about. He hates it when you’re like this, and he hates knowing that he’s the one who made you that way. But pushing you away is easier and better than trying to tell you how he really feels. There’s no way you could feel the same for him, so holding you at arm’s length is better than not holding you at all. You’re his safe place. The person he can let his guard down in front of. The one he can curl into and cry on at night when he has nightmares or after a bad hunt. You hold him together in more ways than one, and he honestly doesn’t know if he would survive without you. So he keeps his feelings in check, just like you do.

As you moved to get out of the car, Dean grabbed your hand.

“Y/N wait. I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I didn’t mean to. I was just angry that Sam talked to you that way. I lost my cool, and I’m sorry I took it out on you. Forgive me? Please?”

You sighed and squeezed his hand with yours. “Of course. Always, Dean. You know that.” You gave him a small smile.

He smiled back and let out a sigh of relief. “Good. You’re my best friend, Y/N, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

His words made your heart pang with sadness, but you didn’t let it show. Of course he only thinks of you as a friend. How could he see you as anything more? You’re practically his sister! “I’m not going anywhere Winchester.”

With that, you pulled your hand away and stepped out of the Impala and walked up the short sidewalk to the front porch. Stepping under the police tape, you noticed a brick that was loose near the threshold of the front door. “Hey Dean! Come look at this!” As you stooped lower to get a better look at it, you noticed an insignia etched into the front face. Dean looked over your shoulder and watched as you pulled out your pocket knife to pull the brick out. As it fell, half a dozen roaches scattered up the wall and you jumped back shrieking, almost knocking Dean over in the process. You immediately started scratching your scalp, feeling like they were crawling all over you.

Dean rushed over to you and grabbed your shoulders to wrap you in a hug. “You’re alright, I got you. They’re not on you I promise. It’s okay.”

“God damn fucking demon bugs! I hate fucking roaches!”

“I know you do princess. It’s alright. They’re gone. You want me to check the hole while you hang back?”

You nodded your head and Dean moved back to look in the small hole.

“Well would you look at that! You were right Y/N. It’s a friggin’ witch!” he exclaimed as he pulled a small hex bag out.

You felt your face almost split in a grin as you jumped up with a fist pump. “YES! I knew it was a witch! Suck it Samuel!”

Dean just laughed. “Alright Judd Nelson, take it easy. We still gotta go check out the inside.”

Dean opened the front door of the house and it let out a loud creak, making both of you cringe.

“Well, if there is anything in here, they know we’re here now,” you whispered to him.

You both had your guns drawn, loaded with witch killing bullets, as you moved through the house one room at a time. Dean opened a door in the kitchen that led to a basement. He groaned.

“Why is it always a basement? Why can’t it be a nice garden with flowers and rose bushes? But nooo. It’s always gotta be a damn basement!” he whined.

“Can you handle that by yourself? I’m gonna go check out the upstairs.”

He looked at you warily before you rolled your eyes. “I’m a big girl, Dean. I can handle myself.”

“Alright. But you see anything, you shoot first, ask questions later! Got it princess?”

“Yes Dad. I think I can handle one little witch.”

He started down the stairs as you made your way to the second set of stairs leading up. You cleared each of the 3 bedrooms and their closets before you made it to the bathroom. As you opened the door a figure flew past you, knocking you over in the process.

“HEY!” You cocked your gun. “Freeze, bitch.”

The witch stopped in her tracks and turned around with a wicked grin on her face. “You can kill me if you want, but it won’t save your little boyfriend down there. My sister is waiting on him right now. We knew who you were before you even walked in the door, Y/N.” She sneered your name, and it sent shivers down your spine. “You and those Winchester boys are as good as dead. So go ahead, shoot me if you want, but it won’t stop-”

BANG.

The witch dropped dead and you took off running down the stairs and into the basement, where you found an unconscious Dean with another witch standing over him dropping a fluorescent green powder on his body. You didn’t hesitate to drop that one too. As the bitch hit the ground, there was a blinding light coming from Dean’s body.

“Dean!” you cried out to him as you shielded your eyes. As soon as it dissipated, you turned to run to him but stopped short in your tracks. Where Dean had just been lying, there was now a toddler sitting in his spot staring at you.

“Dean?” you hesitantly asked.

“I hate fweakin’ witches Y/N. Fix dis! I can’t even speak wight! I can’t wet Sammy see me wike dis! Pwease Y/N, don’t wet him see me.” The little boy cried as he wrapped his arms around your legs.

You stooped down to pick him, trying to contain your laughter. “Honey it’ll be okay. We’re going to need his help changing you back though. You know I’m no good with this magic stuff. If you make me do it myself, I could turn you into a toad for all we know!”

Dean’s eyes went wide at that statement. “Awight fine. But he better not waugh at me! I’m gonna kick his sowwy ass if he does!”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer. “Oh Dean, I’m sorry! I just can’t help it! You’re so tiny and adorable and your little toddler speak is just so god damn funny!” He glared at you as you wiped at the tears streaming down your face.

“Are you done yet? Can we go find Sammy now, pweeeeease?”

With one more small outburst of laughter, you nodded your head. You went to grab the keys to the Impala off the basement floor when your phone started ringing. You grinned when you saw Sam’s name pop up on the caller ID.

“Heya Sammy. So, is it a shtriga?”

“No. I didn’t see any rotten handprints outside the windows. You still think this is a witch?”

“Oh yeah. Two witches, actually. But don’t worry, I took them both out. It was pretty easy actually. You ready to say sorry?”

“Oh shut it. Where is Dean? Put him on the phone.”

Dean vehemently shook his head. “He’s…ahh…not able to talk right now Sam.”

Sam groaned. “He got hit, didn’t he?”

You giggled. “Yeah, he did. But it’s really not that bad!”

“Ugh. Just get back to the motel so we can pack up and get back to the bunker. I’ll fix…whatever is wrong with him when we get there. Why is it always his dumbass that gets hit with the spells? He gets so whiny and childish when it happens.”

You chuckled again. “Oh Sammy, you have no idea. We’ll see you soon.”

You hung up on Sam and wrapped Dean in your arms once more, carrying him out to the Impala. You definitely didn’t miss the way his little toddler hands clung to your shirt and how his head nestled into the crook of your neck. You smiled to yourself, knowing that even in his current state he still sought out comfort in you; and this time it was literally in your arms.

By the time you made it back to the motel, Sam was already packed and ready to go. You walked up to the door and put dean on the ground just out of sight. Crouching down to his level once more, you whispered, “wait here for just a second, okay? I’m gonna try to ease him into this and try to get him not to laugh at you. I know this is hard, but we’ll be home and you’ll be back to your macho, manly self in no time.” You kissed his forehead and as you pulled away, you could have sworn you heard a little whimper come from the tiny boy. He grabbed your hand as you opened the door.

“Sam!” you called out to the giant.

“Hey. Where’s Dean? I need to know what kind of spell he was hit with so I can start doing research. I should have all the ingredients I need for the counterspell back at the bunker, but I just need to make sure. So what is it this time? Is he blind again? Or deaf this time? Or maybe he was turned into an animal! Ahahaha that would be great. What-”

“SAM!” you finally yelled, and you felt Dean shrink back just a hair. You whispered “I’m sorry,” to him and gave his hand a little squeeze to comfort him. “It’s none of those. He hasn’t been turned into an animal either. He’s been turned into…well…he’s still Dean, just…smaller?”

Sam gave you a confused look.

“Ugh. Just, don’t laugh, alright? The poor thing is already terrified and that’s enough. One of the witches knocked him out, and by the time I got back to him, the bitch was sprinkling this really bright green powder on him and I was too late to stop the spell. I ganked her, but it didn’t reverse it. It’s not his fault. I shouldn’t have left him alone… Just wait here for two seconds.” You turned back to Dean outside. “You ready?” you asked him. He gave you a small nod and you could tell he was trying to hold back tears.

This wasn’t easy for him, especially with Sam here. He was always protecting you and Sam, and being this little, he was helpless really. That was a new feeling for him, and it wasn’t lost on you. You felt horrible for him. You picked him up the way a mother would her own children and pressed his face against your neck.

“Shhh, sweetheart. It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here, and I won’t let you go, okay? I’ll be right here the whole time.”

He nodded and you felt a few tears wet the skin of your neck, and your heart broke for him. He deserves so much better than this.

“Sam if you laugh at him, I’ll string you up myself. He’s been through enough, alright?” you said as you poked your head in through the door.

“Scouts honor. Is he alright? Is he injured?”

You sighed and gave the toddler one final squeeze as you stepped over the threshold, letting the door click shut behind you. As the door shut, Dean let out the tiniest of whimpers. That one you heard. You ran a hand soothingly up and down his back as Sam slapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes went wide. You gave him a glare as a warning. Slowly, Sam composed himself enough to speak.

“Dean? You alright dude?” he asked softly.

“I’m good, Sammy. Pwease just fix me. I don’t wanna be wike dis anymore…”

Sam’s eyes went wide again, but this time it was in shock. Dean sounded wrecked, and it took everything you had not to sob against his little shoulder. Sam looked at you and saw the tears in your eyes, and gave you a curt nod.

“I’ll fix this man, as soon as we get home. I think I know what I need, but if I’m right it may take another day. The potion has to sit for 24 hours in order to turn you back to the right age. Otherwise, it could backfire and have some serious consequences.” Sam grinned. “Don’t worry, Jerk.”

You felt Dean perk up a little at Sam’s addition. “Shut up, Bitch,” he mumbled against your neck, and all three of you gave a little laugh.

Dean asked you to drive, but Sam grumbled about his legs being crushed if the seat was moved up that far. After a few minutes of the two of you arguing with a toddler in the parking lot, and a handful of very strange looks from people passing by, you had finally come to an agreement. You would sit in the back with Dean while Sam drove you all home. Dean wasn’t happy because he wasn’t the one driving, but seeing as his legs were only a foot long, it was impossible for him to do so.

Dean curled up against your side and fell asleep about 30 minutes into the trip. You felt your eyes grow heavy not long after, so you let Sam know you were gonna take a nap as well. You carefully picked Dean up and scooted down the seat so you could lie across the length of it. Pressing him to your chest, you rolled the both of you onto your sides with his back to the back of the leather seats, and his face resting against your chest. His little hand came up to rest on your cheek and he let out a small sigh. Just before you fell asleep, you could have sworn you heard Dean whisper, “I wuv you Y/N.”

Sam was gently shaking you awake a few hours later, letting you know you had made it home. He smiled when you instinctively wrapped your arms around Dean a little tighter before your eyes shot open. He held his hands up, knowing you wake up ready to fight when you get protective like this; especially when it came to Dean. You relaxed a little when you took in your surroundings.

You tried to move off the seat without waking Dean, but your right ass cheek had fallen asleep and you lost your balance. You fell off the seat and hit the floorboard with a loud “OOMPF!” and Dean shot up like a bullet. You pulled him to you and gave him a quick hug, letting him know everything was okay.

“We’re home now sweetheart. Sammy’s already hitting the books. Why don’t we go get you cleaned up?” You offered him your hand, which he promptly took in his own, and you led him to the bathroom. You picked him up and sat him on the sink top. You grabbed a washcloth and let the water from the sink get nice and warm before soaking the water up with it. As gently as possible, you ran the washcloth over Dean’s face, trying to get all the dirt and tear streaks off him. Then you wiped his hands and feet. When he was sufficiently clean, you threw the washcloth back into the sink and placed Dean on your hip, humming some tune to yourself as you went. Dean watched you with admiration.

“You know, you’d make a good mommy,” he said as he placed his head on your shoulder once more.

You froze at his words, not knowing how to respond. Your heart clenched at thoe thought of having your own children. You leaned your head against his smaller one and let out a sigh. “I don’t really think that’s in the cards for me… I’ll just take what I can get for now.”

“What’s dat?” he hummed in response.

You knew he was falling asleep again, but you decided to take a chance anyways. “You. I like taking care of you Dean. You and Sam, you’re all I have left. So I dote on you and love you because you deserve it. And you deserve it more than anyone, Dean. You deserve to be loved and to have someone take care of you from time to time. You don’t always have to be the macho, manly man. It’s okay to need and want to be taken care of sometimes, and I want to be that person for you. So when this is all over, please, let me in. Let me love you and take care of you the way you do me and Sammy…” You trailed off, waiting for a response. “Dean?”

He was passed out on your shoulder once more. You sighed in defeat when Sam startled you from behind.

“Don’t give up, Y/N. Not yet, anyways. He loves you just like you do him, I swear. I wouldn’t tell you that if it weren’t true; you know I’m not that cruel. It’s just hard for him. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for him. He hasn’t been treated like this since before mom died…”

And just like that, your heart broke all over again. This time, for both the boys. With Dean still balanced on your hip, you pulled Sam in for a hug and he let out a short sob. He wrapped his long arms around both you and the little boy and allowed himself to cry for a few moments.

Sam sniffled. “Anyways, I found the right counter-spell for him. It’s ready now.”

“I thought it had to ‘stew’?”

“No, that was for a different one. The powder the witch used was simple.”

“Alright, you go get it set up. I’ll wake little man here and let him know.”

You tried to keep the disappointment out of your voice, but when Sam shot you one of his sympathetic looks before he walked off, you knew you had failed. You held Dean to you a little tighter as you swayed and hummed your way down the hallway. You stroked Dean’s hair, trying to gently coax him awake.

“Dean baby, it’s time to wake up,” you quietly murmured against his head. “Sammy got the potion ready for you.”

“Not a baby. Wanna sleep. Dwink it in da morning.” He snuggled in closer to your neck and began softly snoring.

You let out a sigh and went to go talk to Sam. You found him in the library hovering over some foul smelling concoction.

“Does he have to drink it now? I can’t get him to wake up…”

“It takes a while to take effect, so he should really do it now. Let me see if I can wake him.”

You gave Sam a small shrug as you handed Dean to him. Sam started tickling the boy’s sides, and Dean responded by bolting upright and yelling.

“I’m awake, Bitch. Tanks for dat.”

Sam chuckled. “You’re welcome. Jerk.”

He set Dean down on top of the nearest table and handed him the potion. You watched as Dean awkwardly plugged his nose and simultaneously tipped the cup back, downing all the liquid like he would a glass of whiskey. He gagged and coughed after it was done and immediately reached for you with a whine. You picked him up once more and let him curl into your body as you moved back down the hall to his bedroom. You placed him on his bed before drawing up the blankets to cover him up, tucking him in with care. You had almost gotten out of the room when you heard his small voice.

“Y/N? Pwease stay. I don’t wanna be awone…”

You quickly moved back into the room, clicking the door shut behind you. As you got into his bed, he wrapped his little arms around your neck, and you curled your body around his. You began petting his hair and singing.

Hey Jude

Don’t make it bad

Take a sad song, and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

Hey Jude

Don’t be afraid

You were made to go out and get her

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better

And anytime you feel the pain

Hey Jude, refrain

Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders

For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder

Soon, the soft snores coming from his tiny form lulled you into sleep as well.

-----

When you woke in the morning, you quickly realized that Dean was not tiny any longer. He was quite large, in fact, and currently smothering you with his arm slung over your neck and one of his legs on top of both your own. You gently tried to lift his arm, but he moved it suddenly and it dropped on your face, causing you to squeak in surprise.

He shot upright and looked at you for a moment before he realized he was back to his adult self. He tackled you back down onto the bed with a roaring laugh and hugged you tight. Before you could even react, his lips were on yours in a passionate kiss. As soon as he released you, you opened your mouth to say something, but he shushed you with his hand against your mouth.

“I need to say this, so please, let me get it all out, okay?”

You nodded in agreement.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve been an ass. I’m terrified of caring too much about you, Y/N, because the people I care about always leave. I’m terrified of loving you, because then you become a playing piece for some monster to use and hurt, and I can’t have that happening. But drowning myself in all that fear, I blinded myself to what was actually going on; I never meant to hurt you. I thought that I was keeping you safe by doing this, and now I know I’m not. Please tell me I’m not too late with this. I’ll understand if I am, I know I should have said all this a long time ago. I was just too much of a coward. But please, please forgive me. I need you. You-”

You cut him off with a bruising kiss. “Of course I forgive you. You could never be too late with this. I could be walking down the aisle to marry some other knucklehead and I would still come running to you. But you have to promise me that you won’t take the easy way out if things get hard with us. I know you, and because I know you, I know that if some big bad tries to hurt me to get to you, you’ll close yourself off. So don’t do that shit, ya hear?”

He nodded violently.

“Good. Now shut up and love me, Winchester.”

“Always and forever, Y/N,” he whispered as he kissed you once more.

@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

@queen-of-deans-booty

@gone-to-fight-the-fairies

@spnfanficpond

#Dean Winchester x reader #spn fanfic #spn fandom

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dixseptdixhuit · 7 years

Text

Sunrise (12x23 coda - sort of, but not really)

Note: thank you to @amirosebooks for the handprint idea. Hope it lives up to your expectations!

And of course thank you @procasdeanating for the great beta-ing ♥

Dean sinks down on his knees besides Cas' body, looking up, waiting for someone, something to come and undo what just happened. It can't be. Cas can't be dead. Finally he lowers his gaze on the beloved face. So still, like he's sleeping, and Cas so rarely sleeps. Dean's throat hurts, his chest hurts, he can barely breathe now. He doesn't know how much time passes, all he knows is that this is too much to bear, and the tears that finally escape him won't soothe him. He falls on Cas' chest and heaves through painful sobs, endlessly.

“Cut! And stay in position as much as possible, please! Okay, that was good. We have about fifteen minutes before sunrise, so I'd rather the transition goes smoothly.”

Nobody claps, as would probably be the case if they had filmed such an emotional scene during day time. The on-set crew is reduced to the minimum at this hour, and everyone is exhausted. People are talking low and moving around without paying attention to Misha and Jensen still lying on the ground.

Misha opens his eyes and puts a hand on Jensen’s back. He knows he shouldn’t move too much if he wants to find the exact same position again, but Jensen’s sobs aren’t stopping, and he doesn’t like that. Tears are starting to wet his shirt and they aren’t fake. A tired Jensen shooting an emotional scene at 5 am was probably a bad idea, and Misha would have said so if he’d been asked.

“Shhh, babe, it’s okay,” he whispers. He’s not even sure Jensen’s heard him; he continues weeping against Misha’s chest. Misha tries to take him back to the reality of the situation. “Come on, Jens, you’re going to smudge all your makeup on my wardrobe, and I can’t get up to change.”

Misha keeps running his free hand through Jensen’s hair, and slowly the crying calms down, but Jensen stays in the same position, face hidden against Misha’s chest, as if he is ashamed to lift it and look at Misha. They just lie there, and the cold is starting to seep into their bodies from the ground when a PA comes to them, carrying a blanket. She doesn’t speak, just makes eye contact with Misha who nods silently, and she spreads the blanket clumsily over them.

It takes several minutes for Jensen to start to relax. Misha watches the sky gradually lightening, and the crew around them beginning to busy themselves again.

“Okay, people, we need to do this one in one shot, you know that! No mistakes allowed, so get ready!”

The PA comes back to take the blanket away, and Jensen finally stirs as if he is coming out of a deep slumber. He lifts his head and catches Misha’s eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “I… I’m sorry.”

Misha can’t answer as someone comes up to reapply their makeup. The sky is starting to show a deep pink shade behind the mountains; in a minute, everyone except them draws back behind the camera line, and they hear a clap and a loud “Action!”

The door of the small wooden house opens but Dean doesn’t move from where he’s slumped over Cas’ chest. A scrawny teenager, in a much too big flannel shirt that reaches his skinny knees, comes out of the house. His eyes glow gold and he’s smiling, a weird ecstatic smile. He goes down the few front steps, walking straight to where Cas lies. Behind him, Sam hesitates on the threshold, as if knowing he can’t change the boy’s actions in any way.

The boy stops next to Cas, and Dean finally looks up when he hears him say, in a clear, high-pitched voice: “Castiel.” It’s not a question, not a plea, more like an affirmation, a simple statement.

The sky has taken a bright hue of pink and gold, and exactly as the first ray of sun shines from behind the mountain across the lake, a blinding beam of light springs out from the Nephilim’s eyes to Castiel’s heart, right where the angel blade stabbed him. Cas’ body seizes as the dazzling light spreads through it, and Dean falls back on his ass, his eyes squeezed shut. He’s still numb from the shock of what happened in the last couple of hours and when a searing pain burns his shoulder, he doesn’t react except for a full-body flinch - and then the pain is gone, just like that, and the light too.

When Dean opens his eyes, blue ones are staring back at him. His left shoulder throbs with his heartbeat, but he doesn’t care about it right now, doesn’t even want to glance at it for a second, because Cas is looking at him. With eyes full of life. And he’s breathing, and saying the one thing that Dean wasn’t expecting to hear ever again, “Dean”, in his unmistakable deep baritone.

“Cas… is that you? Really you?”

“Yes. You are hurt. Let me...” and he lifts his hand towards Dean’s shoulder. This time, Dean looks down left, and he gasps. His shirt sleeve is burnt and there, on his shoulder, angry-red and swollen, is the same handprint he wore nearly ten years ago when he rose from his grave. Castiel’s handprint.

“No, don’t,” he says as he stops Cas’ gesture. “I want to keep it. I want to keep you.” He’s dizzy and he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter, because all that matters is Cas, not why he’s alive or how. He flings himself at Cas, and clings to him. He doesn’t want to ever let go.

“Cut! Awesome, you did it, guys!”

This time, the whole crew cheers. They all knew that they had to do it in one take, while the sun was rising; there was no room for errors, and it’s done. It worked, and now everyone just wants one thing: going to bed.

“Y’all have twelve hours to rest, and we’ll start again this evening for a few hours only, so please come back well rested!”

Jensen takes several minutes to loosen his grip on Misha’s coat and let him draw back. They stare at each other, dazed and exhausted. Finally, Misha grabs Jensen’s arm and pulls him to his feet.

“Come on, cowboy, let’s get you to bed. I’m sure you can at least walk to the car.”

“Mish… I’m sorry.”

“Shut up,” Misha offers, his tone softer than the words themselves. They’re approaching the car now, not having bothered with anything else, even saying goodnight (or day) to anyone, or removing their makeup.

“Can I… Please come and stay at my place,” and Jensen’s voice isn’t pleading, but strained and thin, and Misha knows he won’t deny him - and himself, if he’s being honest - the comfort. There’s no point in pretending he doesn’t need it too.

“Of course, assbutt.” The reference makes Jensen smile, at least. Misha opens the car door and they both slide on the back seat, squeezing close together, touching from shoulder to thigh. Jensen leans a bit stronger against Misha’s side until Misha, with a sigh, lifts his arm to allow Jensen to snuggle up to him.

While they ride in silence, the sun keeps rising.

(in this ficlet, Jensen needs to be forgiven by Misha for something, but I don’t know what. Feel free to imagine!)

#spn 12x23 #coda #destiel #cockles #rpf #basically gross fluff #my writing

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mindasvastasspace · 6 years

Text

Reunion with Mom, pt 1 (self para)

Boarding the plane, Kylar’s mind was racing with so many scenarios of how things were going to work out the moment he stepped off the plane and reunited with his mother. Given their...colorful...past together, he’d been hesitant to even bother to show up this year for Christmas, seeing as she’s been one of the main sources of his childhood traumas he’d had the burden of bearing his entire life. But he’d sensed a change in her over the past month or so, over texts and phone calls to one another—as if she’d finally realized that he was her SON. Her family. Her one child she’d been given to as a miracle. That change is what had convinced Kylar to come back home for the holidays. If they hadn’t been talking and getting a better understanding of each other over the past month, Kylar would’ve stayed in Florida, or taken Mason up on his offer to go to Canada for Christmas. After getting off the plane, he sent his mom a quick text to let her know he’d landed safely and headed right down to baggage claim to grab his now-overly stuffed luggage, thanks to his shopping and “father-son”bonding weekend he’d had worth Gerard (who at this point was a better father than his own flesh and blood.) He’d planned out to meet his mother around baggage claim, so he picked a spot where he’d be easy to find, set his suitcase down and played around on his phone for a while, texting his friends to let them know he was okay, and to the few he trusted explained how he was actually feeling, considering the situation. Nervous, anxious, happy and excited; all lumped into one emotion he honestly had no idea how to categorize. But it was making him antsy. Completely on edge. Enough to have him standing with one hand in his pocket and playing with his fidget cube and typing with the other. After a few more minutes, he heard a familiar voice calling his name, and felt his heart freeze.

“Kylar!!” He looked around, not knowing where that voice was coming from. He felt his heart racing faster, the fight or flight reaction he got every time he spoke to his mother once again taking over his body. If he ran, he could easily get away. But no. He had to face his fears. He wanted things to change between them. When he finally saw her, his jaw dropped.

His mother looked completely different. Her hair was more tame, was what he first noticed. It wasn’t the way-too-perfectly sculpted, Christian stepford wife do up she’d always had that he’d been so used to seeing. It was dyed blonde, straightened, and honestly framed her face very well. Instead of pastel sweaters and slacks, she was in a nice red pea coat and black leggings, a white scarf around her neck and tucked into her jacket, with a matching beanie on her head. She looked like a completely different person. Enough for Kylar to not even recognize her at first.

“M-Mom...?” He spoke slowly, pocketing his phone and bit his lip. Her smile was the same it’d always been, and that was what made him realize it was actually her. “H...hi, I didn’t even recognize you.”

“Ky...” she walked a little closer, unsure as to go in for a hug or not. They’d never been that close.

“Yes, Hi, Mom. It’s me. Your gay son. Hello.” Kylar said flatly, pocketed his phone, slung his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his suitcase. “You look different. Can we go now?”

“Kylar. I know what you’re thinking and we have a lot to talk about—“

“You have no idea what I’m thinking right now, honestly. Im cold, Im tired and hungry and I just wanna get home, okay?” He paused, realizing he might be being a little too harsh. “I’m sorry, I’m just. This is really, really hard hard for me, Mom. But I’ll tone it down. I don’t wanna be angry right now. You really do look great.”

“I know. I get it. And, um. Thanks.” She smiled back, seeming like she took the compliment to heart. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

He followed her to the car, without another word, lost inside his own thoughts. He knew he had every right to be heartless to her, but that’s just not who he was at all. He did have a grudge and a lifetime of resentment towards her, but. It just wasn’t in him to be so cold. He literally did not have the capability to be angry for more than a few minutes at a time. The last time he saw his mom was on his 21st birthday, where she was nowhere near in control of herself. She’d always seemed fine on the outside, what with the usual church-lady attire and bright sunny demeanor. But when it came to her son she’d always been nasty. Verbally abusive, cold, and ignorant. Completely unaware of the abuse she’d been dealing him his entire life, always hopped up on pills and downing booze the moment the clock hit noon. But now she seemed like a completely different person, and Kylar didn’t know how to process that. Was she just fooling him? Manipulating him to try and get him back? Or was she actually in this with his best interest in mind? He had no idea, and that was part of the reason why he’d been so nervous and anxiety ridden ever since his trip back to Chicago had been set in stone.

The car ride back was, for lack of a better word, awkward. He didn’t speak, his words still spinning around in his head every time he tried to grasp at something to say. She didn’t speak either, so between the radio and the sound of the road under them, it’d been pretty silent. The house looked all-too-familiar once they parked by the curb, and again, Kylar felt that surge of anxiety course through him. This was the house that he’d spent his senior year in, the old, run down little townhouse in the heart of south side Chicago that he’d tried to forget about the past two years. The scene of the crime, he thought. This relic of the past was the last thing he’d looked at before he packed up and left. Part of him regretted it, but the bigger one knew it’d been the right thing to do at the time. But here he was now, nearly 3 years later, and it looked exactly the same as it always had. Old, run down windows, slightly peeling paint on the sidings, and a short flight of run down stairs leading up to the barely-crooked front door. As he got out of the car, he looked up at the top left window, the one he’d snuck out of so many times in the past. A tiny remnant of the makeshift rope ladder he’d crafted years before was still visible hanging off of the windowsill. Seeing that made him smile a bit. A smile which faded away the moment he remembered why he’d snuck out countless times in the middle of the night.

I have to see him while I’m here,he thought. His ex. The one person he knew that was in town that never judged him for who he was. Dean was coming back in a few days, but until then? Nobody. He’d promised he would meet up with his ex, since they were still extremely close and obviously still had strong feelings for each other. but that was a whole different train of thought Kylar forced himself to log away for now. After taking a slow, deep breath to calm himself, he walked up the rickity steps, careful to avoid the rotted wood on the third step up and waited for his mom to open the door, expecting to see the same old, far-too-clean OCD interior he’d been so familiar with growing up.

“Welcome home.” His Mom said, opening the door for him and let him step inside first. He watched his feet as he crossed the threshold, stopping in his tracks the moment he looked up. The house was somewhat the same, with furniture in the same exact places and the stairs leading upstairs to his right. But something felt different—he couldn’t quite place it, but it felt more homey. Less stepford kind of creepy. His mom had apparently decorated before he got there, with tinsel and multicolored lights lining the hand rail of the stairs, christmassy decorations hanging on the walls and scattered around the kitchen and living room. She actually had a tree for once, which was new to him. All they ever could afford before was skimpy, run down spruce trees that nobody else would buy from the lots but this? This was a real, tall pine tree, the aroma coming from it somewhat soothing to Kylar.

“Wow...you went all out didn’t you?” He offered a smile, this one actually genuine. She returned it with a nod as she took off her jacket and hung it next to the door.

“Eh, it’s nothing really.” She replied. One of the phrases Kylar had inherited. “I just wanted you to feel welcomed back. Since , well.” She huffed. “it’s been a while.”

“Yeah....” Kylar silently replied. “So I’m gonna go put my stuff in my room. I’ll be back down in a bit.” Without waiting for a reply, he hopped up the stairs by two and walked down the hall to his old bedroom, not surprised that a single picture of him was on the walls. He expected that. But what he didn’t expect was that his room had looked exactly the same as it did when he’d up and left. The band posters on the walls, anime action figures lining the shelves where he could fit them between his books; his sewing machine against the wall and the vinyl record player in the corner next to his TV...everything had been preserved exactly like it was before. Even his sheets were the same black and grey striped ones, just washed for once and neatly tucked under the bed. His little Stitch doll was even still on his pillow, exactly how he’d left it.

“Hey, Stitch...” he couldn’t help but smile as he dropped his suitcase on the floor and went to sit on his bed, put the Stitch doll in his lap and played with the oversized ears. Looking over it, he saw the stain on the doll’s hand from when he’d spilled black dye on it when he’d changed his hair. There were some good memories in here, he thought, and once he realized that, he actually felt glad he’d come back home. Fighting back some tears, he set Stitch back down and took out his phone, laid down on his neatly made bed and texted back some friends, letting them know how he was doing. Because he honestly was, deep down. Still a little anxious, but less so now that he was in his safe space. The one room in the house he couldn’t be touched or hurt in. Halfway through replying to Olly, he remembered something. He set his phone down, shifted to look under the bed and blindly reached around until he pulled out a cardboard box, and immediately felt a huge grin form.

“Oh my god...” he said aloud, pulling the box out a little more before picking it up to put in his lap. all this old, prototype, amateur photography was still in here. All the Polaroids of him and his friends from Detroit before he moved, along with old ones with him and Dean. A million of himself and his ex, which was a pretty harsh sting to the heart. and some of his friends from Chicago as well. That really hit him hard, and he couldn’t stop the tears this time and just started sobbing, enough to have to set the box aside as to not ruin the memories of his past and just let the tears fall. Hearing his mom coming up the stairs, he quickly sat up and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, smiled, and looked up right as she walked into the doorway. He figured she knew how he was feeling, seeing as she didn’t ask questions.

“Um. I made some cocoa if you want some?” she smiled. Kylar nodded and wiped his eye of a stray tear, smiling back.

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.” He replied. She nodded, and he stopped her as she turned to leave. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yes?” She turned back, almost with a hopeful look on her face.

“Thank you...for letting me come back. I know we weren’t on the best of terms and we still aren’t exactly but—”

“Kylar, shh. You don’t have to say another word. You’re welcome, honey.” He looked up at her. She’d never in his life called him that before. Admittedly, that did make him feel a little warm inside. Standing up, he hugged his arm to himself and bit his lip, as if not knowing what else to say at the moment. Before he knew it, he felt himself practically falling forward, unable to control his body and hugged his mother for the first time in years, the tears escaping him once again.

“Fuck, I’m. I’m s-sorry I left. I’m so f-fucking sorry...Mom. I just felt so trapped, and hurt, and unwanted and I thought you hated me and I didn’t know what else to d-do and, and—” He managed to let out a jumbled stream of words before he could even think about what he was saying. Feeling her hug him back made the tears fall even harder, a small wail and a deep inhale escaping him.

“shhhh just take a deep breath.” His Mom replied, somehow a lot calmer than he was. Like she had had plenty of time to think of exactly what to say. “you have nothing to be sorry for. You did exactly what you should have done.” she pulled him away so she could get a good look at his face, holding his head in her hands, tears forming in her eyes as well. The same big, brown eyes she’d given to her son. “I’ve been absolutely awful to you. Horrid. And beyond wretched and unfair. There’s not even a word for how horribly I’ve treated you and it. It took you leaving for me to realize that.” Kylar was speechless, and could only respond with another gasp for air and a nod, hugging her tighter. “There’s nothing in this world I can do to ever, ever make up for the things I’ve done. The things I’ve said to you. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to try, baby. I love you. You’re my son. My only son. and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize that, Kylar. I can’t change who you are. I never should have tried. And I’m proud of you. Im so fucking proud of you.” Kylar let out another muffled sob against her shoulder. “And I know sorry doesn’t mean anything, I know that....” all those words were exactly what he needed to hear. What he’d waited for her to say for the last decade. She’d been emotionally manipulative in the past to have things go her way but this. This was different. something resonated in her tone for him to realize that she most likely did mean every word she said. And that meant the world to him. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders after years of it constantly being there, keeping him down and burdening him.

After a couple more minutes, Kylar finally collected himself and let her go, smiled sheepishly and wiped his hands over his face.

“God, I probably look like a mess...” he managed a haughty laugh, sniffling quietly as he wiped his eyes dry. “That cocoa sounds really good about now.”

“Awww...” his mom ruffled his hair, just like she’d always done when he was a kid. But this time it wasn’t menacing. It was actually a comforting gesture for once. “C’mon. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” With another sniffle, Kylar nodded and let her lead the way downstairs.

Over multiple mugs of cocoa, his mom got Kylar up to speed. After he’d left, she’d been upset. All the calls he ignored from her, the unanswered texts and emails...it had taken her a long time to realize just how her son had felt, but when it did hit her, it hit her hard. She realized without him, she was completely alone. Her husband had walked out on them a year prior to Kylar leaving, and got together with a younger woman. Whom she’d found out he’d been cheating on her with for the last couple years. Kylar had seen that one from a mile away and even commented, into a drink of cocoa, “fucking called it.” After that realization of hers, she’d turned to the church and found Jesus, as she always did. Kylar wasn’t religious at all, so he kind of tuned out at that part of her story and let his mind wander as he half-listened, half processed what was actually happening. She prayed, begged for forgiveness, and started on her own journey of personal reflection and reformation. She quit drinking, stopped downing Xanax like candy and changed her appearance,ultimately becoming a better version of herself. And when she was finally satisfied with that, got back in touch with her son and insisted he come home for Christmas. Kylar let her talk with no interjections besides the occasional “asshole” and “dickless fucktard” when his father was mentioned, each time gripping his mug a little tighter. Ultimately, they had a nice, lengthy chat, catching each other up on their lives. This was probably the most meaningful conversation they’d ever had between the two of them, and for once it didn’t end in a huge argument and him storming off upstairs to hole himself away and dissociate. He told her about Florida, and school, and hid new apartment. About how close he was to Magic Kingdom, and how he’d scored his job at the studio thanks to a very, very close friend of his he considered a sister he’d never had. He told her about all his other new friends he’d made, famous or not, and now he was tight with the “emo guy from fall out boy” and the “eccentric artist of my chemical romance”. Both of which she was in awe of, seeing as they were all he talked about all through his teenage years. He still had posters of both of them up on the walls of his bedroom and had no intentions of ever taking them down.

“My, my, my little boy’s all grown up.” She smiled at him. Kylar just shrugged and took another drink of cocoa.

“Eh.” He replied. “Where it counts I guess.I still don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time.”

“Uh huh. You still doing that, um. Cos...play? Is that what it’s called?”

“Yeah, what you used to call glorified dress up. Remember? You said that any hack could do it because it’s the same as Halloween?” He replied with every amount of sass he could possibly put into words. He could see the pain in her face as she heard that and it was, admittedly, satisfying to see. His smirk proved that.

“Yeah...that. I don’t even remember saying that.”

“It’s okay, Mom. You’re not the only one that thinks it’s weird and a waste of time. But it’s fun, and elaborate, if you wanna make something that means something to you. And it takes a lot more effort than you think. You should see some of the stuff I’m working on now. Been sewing and drawing them out for weeks now.”

“I would love to.” She smiled back, nodding. That response made him feel pretty good.

“Cool. My friend Olly took some pictures of me as Sora at Disneyworld so I can dig those up and show you later?”

“Sounds great, Ky.”

“Cool.” He felt another smile grace across his face. “Listen, um. I’m exhausted, it’s been a long week and I’ve cried more the past few days than I have in months so I really need to sleep for a while. But we can talk some more later? Grab some lunch?” He got up from the table as he spoke, rinsed out his mug and set it in the dishwasher and started headed toward the stairs, stopping on the first one as his mom responded.

“Of course. I did promise you ice skating, after all.”

“Oh yeah, no, I didn’t forget about that. You’ve got like two years to catch up on, Mom.”

“I know. We’ll get there.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.” Kylar nodded, smiling to hold back another wave of emotions and headed back upstairs to his bedroom. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he stood in place for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around what an emotional, eventful morning it had been, and finally found it in himself to flop down, face first, into his bed, and cuddled up with his beloved Stitch.

“It’s gonna be okay, little guy.” He said aloud, hugging the doll tightly. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, with a single tear slowly trailing down his cheek.

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